


links

by humanwithhumanpowers



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Canon-Typical Drug Use, F/F, F/M, M/M, MedStudent!Ransom, Musician!Shitty, NHL!Jack, Vlogger!Bitty, Waiter!Dex, Waiter!Holster, Waiter!Nursey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanwithhumanpowers/pseuds/humanwithhumanpowers
Summary: Justin and Jack are neighbors, but they don't really know each-other. Justin's focused on med school, and Jack's a former hockey player who wants to get back on his feet after he OD'd on anxiety medication. Meanwhile, Adam and Chris are roommates and total dorks. Chris befriends this kid, Eric, who's a vlogger and who hits it off with Adam, which is great because Adam's kind of depressed. Eric is good friends with this girl, Lardo, who is also best-friends with Justin. Yes, that Justin. Lardo also just so happens to be the girl Jack's best friend and failing-musician, Shitty, is not-so-subtly in love with.And that's what you missed on Links!





	1. ransom & jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior." - Hippolyte Taine

 

**_April 3rd, 2013 | Wednesday_**

 

* * *

 

 **Justin Oluransi was missing a cat, and he was fairly certain he didn't misplace it.** Before dinner, he had a beautiful Maine Coon named Bartholomew Pawberts. Before dinner, if you'd asked him "hey, Justin, do you have a cat?" he'd have said "yeah, he's big and fat and the best cat ever" and that'd have been that. But that was before dinner. Now his cat was missing, and that was why he found himself retracing his every step that evening.

* * *

       In the short few hours he had been writing his research paper for Dr. Newark, Justin had been seriously craving milk and cookies. Like, seriously. So once he hit 2500 words, he shut down his laptop (making sure to manually save his paper twice despite using Google Docs) and walked into the kitchen for a little break.

     So he took out his favorite glass, a Father's Day mug with a misprint saying "World's Best Fad," and a tin full of leftover Girl Scout Cookies-- one of the only good things that came with moving to America in his honest opinion. He stuffed a Caramel deLite into his mouth (March must have eaten all of the Thin Mints), swung open the fridge, and nearly had an aneurysm. On the fridge's top shelf sat a practically-empty jug of milk. He knew he should have expected it, really, considering he'd been living with March for almost a year. His girlfriend was flawless in every way, except that she never threw away empty containers. It drove him insane. So when he threw the empty jug in the recycling bin, Justin made a mental note to tell his roommate to take out the garbage. He then grabbed his shoes and keys and the door clicked behind him.

      When he came back, he'd lost his appetite for milk and cookies. He'd ran into his ex-girlfriend at the market, and she'd asked him how med school was. He wanted to laugh in her face and say "complete and utter hell why did I ever decide to become a doctor," but instead he talked briefly about how he should actually be at home tackling Dr. Newark’s paper and not to her, and she'd called him a dick. He shoved the carton of milk, along with a couple other bags of groceries, into the fridge. He kicked off his shoes, preheated the oven to 350°F, and went back to his bedroom to continue working on his paper.

      When the timer went off, Justin padded into his kitchen to cook his favorite effortless meal: spaghetti. He shoved his store-bought pre-made meatballs into the oven, and he started boiling the water. When the water started to bubble, he added the spaghetti and grabbed a can of tomato sauce. Normally, when he used his electric can-opener, Justin was mauled by 17 pounds of cat, but this time... nothing. And that's when he realized his cat was missing.

* * *

      He checked around his apartment for Bartholomew, but to no avail. He looked under his bed, the couch, his desk-- all he found was socks and a stick of deodorant. He checked in his drawers, the cupboards, under the sink. He even checked in the toilet, but Bartholomew could not be found anywhere. He called March to ask if she'd seen him, but she told him "Justin, I'm at work" and "seriously you can't keep doing this" and "fine, did you check behind the fridge; I know he likes to hang out there sometimes."

      Justin hung up and checked behind the fridge. To nobody's surprise, Mr. Pawberts wasn't there. Justin started to panic; how could he become a doctor if he couldn’t even keep track of a cat? His chest was tight and he could barely breathe. Relax, he told himself, he’s probably just sleeping somewhere.

     Justin was debating bribing his friend, Larissa, with a frappuccino to come help him look when he heard a knock at the door. The words _Lardo_ and _psychic_ and _soulmate_ briefly crossed his mind as he jumped over his couch to get the door. Of course, those thoughts were quickly stopped when Justin hit himself in the face with the door. _Smooth._

* * *

      He must have hit himself harder than he’d thought. When he regained focus, Jack Zimmermann-- yes, that Jack Zimmermann-- was standing there in black sweatpants and an Adidas hoodie. He looked like he'd just come back from a run, with sweat running down his forehead. "Oh my-- are you alright?" he said in a thick accent, reaching out as if to grab Justin's shoulder.

      He checked if his nose was bleeding. When he saw it wasn't, he nodded. "Yeah, uh, yeah. It happens all the time."

      Jack blinked. There was a moment of silence before he said, "I, uh, I'm Jack Zimmermann and I live a floor below you."

      "I know," replied Justin, still in a state of shock from being hit with his door. "I mean, I know you're Jack Zimmermann, not that you live a floor below me."

      Jack raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

      Justin, however, kept talking. "I mean, I know you live a floor below me, but I don’t know exactly where you live. Like, I’m not some crazed hockey fan. Not that I don’t like hockey-- I used to play, actually, back in highschool. I’m just not, like, super into it. I mean, I am enough to know who you are, but not, like, to care. Not that nobody cares about you, but like... "

      Jack looked either amused or like he was in pain, Justin couldn't tell. "It's alright. I get it a lot."

      "Oh. Okay." Justin wanted to die.

      "So, um, are you by any chance missing a cat?"

* * *

       Jack led him to apartment 28C, which as promised was directly a floor below his. If he didn’t know the name Zimmerman before, he certainly could have guessed when he walked in. Jack’s studio apartment was filled with hockey sticks, pucks, and trophies. Posters decorated the walls-- mostly of his dad, Bad Bob, but also of a few guys his age. Other than the posters, Justin saw no pictures of anyone around the apartment.

     “You must really love hockey, eh?” Justin smiled. Jack cast him a sideways glance, and his heart stopped. “Or your dad, I guess.”

     Jack said nothing.

     “Either way,” Justin cleared his throat. “Your place is very nice.” Jack ignored him.

     “Your cat is in my bathtub,” he said, instead. “I can’t get him out.”

     Justin chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Yeah. He likes water."

     Jack turned around and frowned. He then said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I need to shower."

     Justin could feel his face getting hot. "Um," he said. "You do?"

     Jack nodded, visibly confused. The room went silent.

     "Can you get him?" Jack said after a moment.

     “Oh, oh! Yeah, sure,” Justin smiled awkwardly and stepped into the bathroom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote this about a year ago, but never got around to writing the rest of it. i loved the idea of ransom having a cat named bartholomew pawberts because it's just a thing i assume he'd do. holster is definitely more of a dog person, though. also! jack!!! is so good!! and pure!!


	2. chowder & holster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is a good thing that life is not as serious as it seems to a waiter." - Don Herold

 

_**April 3rd, 2013 | Wednesday**_

 

* * *

 

      **Adam Birkholtz was a man of simple pleasures;** he liked sunsets, long walks on the beach, and holding hands. He also appreciated not being woken up at 3:47 in the fucking morning on a fucking Wednesday because some asshole was blasting _Somebody I Used to Know_. He didn’t hate the song, and if he was honest, he actually loved it. He didn’t love it, however, when he had to be halfway across the city at 6:00 am.

     Unsurprisingly, none of his fratfuck neighbors seemed to be aware that they were not the only people in Boston and, furthermore, the only people in their shitty ass apartment building. To them, you could party all you want, be as loud as you want, because your daddy was paying for college. And when you have parents who care about you enough to pay your tuition, you might as well waste their hard-earned money. And while you’re already being a giant fucking disappointment, why not get arrested for underage drinking as well? Make daddy proud, why don’t you?

     Adam apologized to everyone-- his parents, God-- for ever being 19 years old. He was astounded at the fact that nobody had ever slapped him for being so, so… nineteen. Because, honestly, _he_ would have.

     He was bitter. But he was tired. And sleep deprivation makes people do crazy things. With Adam, for example, it made him shove his fist through his bedroom wall. The music didn’t stop, though, and Adam ended up shoving a pillow over his face in an attempt to sleep.

* * *

     Adam woke up late. His alarm hadn’t gone off, and he was up until 4 in the morning, and he was late.

     This was bad for many reasons. Mainly, though, it was bad because Adam was quite possibly the brokest person he knew. He worked two jobs in addition to school, relied on his roommate to pay rent, and survived almost exclusively on the McDonald’s dollar menu. He _literally_ could not afford to miss work.

     “Shit, fucking assdick cuntfa--ahh,” on his way out of bed, he slipped on a pair of dirty underwear and landed face-first onto a pile of his old gym clothes. “Fuck.”

     He struggled to stand up and rushed as fast as he could into the bathroom. There was toothpaste in the sink and the faucet was leaking, but that didn’t matter. He scavenged the medicine cabinet for one of those travel-sized mouth-washes he remembered getting when he first moved in.

     After rinsing his mouth and putting on enough Axe body spray to probably kill a small child, he rushed into the kitchen. The dishes weren’t done, but his roommate, Chris-- an angel among men-- had set out a generic-brand Doritos bagel and a glass of orange juice for him. Chris was probably at work already, but Adam made a mental note to buy him a coffee or something out of gratitude. Then, he ran out the door, dazed and half-dressed.

* * *

     He arrived at Annie’s at 6:27, almost half an hour late, with half a bagel hanging out of his mouth. He was going to kill his neighbors, and Gotye himself. Luckily, it was Jean-Claude, and not Nicolas, he ran into first. Jean-Claude was placid and relatively easy to talk to. Nicholas, on the other hand, was... intense. In other words, he scared Adam half to death.

     “You’re late, Birkholtz,” Jean-Claude frowned at him. His thick, accented voice wasn’t mad, or even disappointed. He was just stating facts, as he did. “Nicholas will be pissed.”

     Adam removed the bagel from his mouth and walked backwards into the shop. He offered his prize-winning smile, “Nicholas doesn’t need to know.”

     Jean-Claude wasn’t impressed. He followed Adam into the cafe, “This is the third time this month, Adam.”

     “I know!” Adam grabbed his apron off a nearby shelf and shoved the rest of his bagel in his mouth. “My bike was stolen.”

     Will was sweeping the floor in the back. Without even looking up, he muttered, “When hasn't it been?" 

     Adam felt compelled to just lay on the floor right there and die, "Are you seriously telling the teacher on me?"

     “Come on, Birkholtz,” Jean-Claude chided, “Lay off the new kid.”

     Will wasn't exactly a _new_ kid. He'd been working there for about a year, which was practically a decade for college-aged kids. Since then, he'd just kind of latched onto Adam and Derek. And though he was usually a pretty cool guy, in an awkward coworker kind of way, sometimes he drove Adam insane. He was so by-the-book, Adam felt he was drowning in a pool of accountants. 

     “I’d love to, boss,” Adam raised his hands in defeat, “But he just makes it _so hard_.”

     “That’s what she said?” a voice called from the kitchen. _That_ was Derek.

     Will pulled a face, and Adam wished hadn’t forgotten his phone so he could take a picture. It wasn’t a scowl exactly, mostly disgust and not anger, but it was extremely satisfying. 

     Jean-Claude sent a look in Adam's direction, so he felt it best to start cleaning the nearest table. 

 

* * *

     Adam got home at 3:34. He kicked off his sneakers and fell face-first onto the living-room floor. He stared blankly at various candy wrappers and empty water bottles scattered beneath furniture. He needed to sweep.

     He could hear his roommate, Chris Chow, playing Call of Duty in his bedroom. Or maybe he was re-reading Harry Potter. With Chris, you couldn’t really tell the difference.

     A few minutes passed before there was a knock at the door. Adam didn’t feel like actually, physically getting up and answering it, so he just picked his head up slightly and called, “Come in?”  
  
     The door opened to reveal a girl with mousy brown hair braided over her shoulder and a wide smile. 

     "Hey, Adam," she greeted and walked towards Chris's room, the door clicking behind her. She stopped in front of him and bent down to pet his hair. "Rough day?"

     Adam just nodded, and she frowned. "I hope it gets better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowie! this chapter is more or less total exposition on holster's part. but there are way more characters in this chapter, aren't there? surprisingly, though, chowder isn't in it... the title's a bit misleading, don't you think? (just wait until the next one ;-) )


	3. chowder & bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cooking is about passion, so it may look slightly temperamental in a way that it's too assertive to the naked eye. " - Gordon Ramsay

 

_**April 4th, 2013 | Thursday**  
_

 

_Eric Bittle hated his cooking class._

    No, hate was too strong a word. Because, in actuality, it wasn’t really _that_ bad _._ He was used to being in a kitchen, at least, because he was lucky enough to have made a modest career out of posting bi-weekly videos of himself baking on the internet. He didn’t wake up on Thursday mornings and dread driving across Boston, and most of the time it didn't even occur to him that he even _had to_ until his phone blared _Green Light_ while he was in the middle of filming. He’d even made a friend in the last couple of months, with whom he’d bonded over their shared love of chocolate crepes and Beyonce.

    Really, Bitty-- as Eric had been coined by Chris only a few weeks prior-- didn’t mind his cooking class. He was just a little ashamed that he needed to take it... Of course, he was learning and that's really all that mattered.  Nobody was born knowing how to make gourmet pork chops; he knew it was an acquired skill. But he also knew that _baking_ was an acquired skill, and he'd never had any problem with that. He felt like a fraud. He knew it was ridiculous, but he didn't want people to think of him differently when they discovered his ineptness for cooking. 

 

* * *

 

    Bitty and Chris stood towards the back of the classroom as the teacher explained the proper way to knead pasta dough. Chris stood awkwardly, leaning forwards against the counter, his crimson sweater and his choppy hair covered in flour. Bitty chuckled and made a pasta joke.

    “Knock, knock,” he started mincing garlic, careful not to get any flour on it.

    “Who’s there?” Chris said, practically body-slamming the dough on the counter.

    “Pasta,” Bitty started to chuckle at his own joke. He was always in a sort of natural high when he was with Chris. His cheerfulness was completely infectious, but in a good way.

    “Pasta who?”

    Bitty snorted, trying to refrain himself from bursting into laughter, “Pasta lasagna; I’m hungry!”

    Chris laughed like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world, doubling over and gasping for breath.

 

* * *

 

    “Chowder,” someone grabbed Chris by the shoulder. He had short red hair and his pale face was spattered with freckles. He wore a backwards baseball cap and red hoodie similar to Chris's with ‘Samwell’ printed across the front. Bitty recognized him as the guy who sat behind him. “Derek’s in the back-- he spilled, like, sauce or something all over himself, and he’s too spoiled to be seen in public with a stain on his shirt, so I’m gonna take him home. You need a ride?”

    Oh. _Oh._

    Eric had never thought about Chris having other friends. He couldn’t help the tight feeling in his chest as he watched the red-headed boy talk to Chris. He looked at his hands, chastising himself for growing so attached to a stranger.

    “Thank you, Dex,” Chris gave him a small smile, folding his hands on the counter. “But I think I’m gonna stay with Bitty. Tell Nursey that I said bye and that I’ll see him at Annie's on Friday.”

    Dex stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever...”

    Bitty could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and then Dex made a face and added, “We _really_ don’t need nicknames, Chowder…”

    “Sure we do!” Chris said, “How else will people know we’re bros?”

    Dex raised an eyebrow. “ _Anyway_ , I’ll text you later.” He then nodded at Bitty, pursed his lips, and walked away.

 

* * *

 

    When Bitty and Chris walked out of the building together, like they did every week, it had started to snow. It was practically a blizzard, with snow falling hard and fast from almost every direction, and the boys could hardly see five feet in front of them. Chris tightly clutched his left-over lasagna in one arm as he attempted to shrug on his jacket with the other. Bitty adjusted his hat and turned to his friend, “Are you sure you’re going to be alright in the storm?”

    Chris distractedly toyed with his jacket’s buttons.

    “Chris?” Bitty nudged him, and he looked up.

    “What? Oh, no! No, I only live like a couple blocks away. It’s fine.”

    “You’re sure?” Bitty frowned, “Because, I mean, I’m walking anyway... I can walk you home?”

    “You really don’t have to,” Chris started to protest, but Bitty wasn’t hearing it.

    “Come on,” Bitty said, dragging Chris with him, “Let’s go before the storm gets worse.”

 

* * *

 

_The storm got worse._

    By the time they made it back to Chris’s apartment, they were covered head-to-toe in snow. Bitty could hardly feel his limbs. As they reached the apartment, Chris kicked off his sneakers and Bitty peeled off his jacket. Chris searched for his keys, hands fumbling in the cold.     

    “Hey,” a human-sized lump greeted from the sofa as soon as the door opened. “30 Rock’s on next, if you want to watch it. It’s  _Dealbreakers Talk Show,_ I think ...”

    “Uh,” Chris said, shivering, “No thanks.”

    The lump on the couch shot up, revealing a boy with messy blond hair and lop-sided glasses. “I’m sorry, but---”

    He froze. Bitty waved at him, awkwardly.

    “Oh, shit, hi. I mean, fuck. I mean, uh… I...” He cleared his throat, “Hi, I’m Adam.”

    Bitty smiled, “I’m Eric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhhh!!! it's a different day!! watch out, the next chapter will be towards the end of april. also, i love chowder! and the pacing is really weird rn but dw i'll fix it!!! the next chapter is a bonus, though. and then after that!!! everyone's unproblematic fave: the larissa (lardo) duan.


	4. chowder & co. (bonus)

 

**Late April**

 

     Ever since the Great Blizzard Incident Of 2013-- as Adam had been calling it since before it even happened, probably-- Bitty had slowly worked his way into Chris’s little group of friends: Will and Derek, the two boys in their cooking class-- Derek was actually surprisingly calm and not at all like Will made him out to be; and Adam, the lump of a person who spent about two hours arguing with _himself_ over Thirty Rock. They were actually really endearing, in a frat-boy sort of way. Like the others (Dex, Nursey, and... Holster? Bitty didn't understand), he’d even earned himself the permanent title of Bitty.

     It had been a little awkward at first, with lots of fumbling and forgetting names and forgetting nicknames, but with a little magic and a lot of Beyonce, befriending Chris-- or, uh-- Chowder was one of the best things to happen to Bitty in a long time.  

 

* * *

 

     “Okay, okay,” Adam brought out three small, plastic bowls of microwaved popcorn and set them beside the mini-pies Bitty had brought, on the small stack of cardboard boxes they used as a coffee table. 

     Chowder sat on his and Holster's toxic green sofa, which apparently they'd just... found... on the streets of Boston. Dex sat on a bright orange bean bag in the corner of the room, eyes glued to the infomercial playing on the TV. Nursey sat up against the wall beside him, eating a bowl of ice cream and poking Dex in the face with his spoon. Chowder's girlfriend, Caitlin, was in the other room, helping Holster prepare snacks.

     “Charades begins in five minutes, everyone!” Holster practically squealed, “You’d all better be ready to lose.”

     Bitty sat himself down on the couch beside Chris, who explained to him that Holster had never lost a game of charades in his life.

     “He is so up-to-date with pop culture,” he said as he shoved one of Bitty’s mini-pies into his mouth, “It’s actually kind of scary.”

 

* * *

 

     Bitty, the "newbie" as Nursey had so lovingly called him, was elected to go first. He wasn't really a charades-kind-of-person, but he was pretty confident in his ability to act out small things. 

     He drew a small slip of paper from a crimson Samwell baseball cap (he'd figured out, now, that that's where Nursey, Dex, and Chowder had gone to college) and laughed when he read it. 'Chasing the postman' was written in pretty cursive handwriting. Bitty sent a glance to Caitlin (Farmer?), who'd set up the game before dropping to all fours and tackling Dex. 

     Nobody had guessed in time, but Bitty couldn't shake the warm feeling from his chest for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

     When his turn came, Holster stood up and smoothed out his RENT t-shirt. He held up two fingers and then stuck his hands out towards the audience, separating them slowly.

     “Two words,” Dex said. “And…? I don’t know what the second thing is.”

     “It’s a play,” Nursey explained. Dex rolled his eyes and muttered something about Nursey being a know-it-all.

     Adam drew two fingers across his neck, like a razor.

     Immediately, Bitty called out, “Sweeney Todd!”

     Adam gaped at him. Bitty felt his heart pounding inside his chest.

    “Bitty, you beautiful bastard,” Holster grinned like he’d just won a million dollars. “You’ve seen the Sweeney-Sweens?”

     Bitty could feel the blush on his cheeks. All he could say was: “I love pie?”

     Dex frowned, "I don't even know what that is..."

     Within seconds, Adam was suffocating him in a hug. He pulled back and said, “At least _someone_ here has good taste.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh! I'm so sorry my updating has been like this! I'm working on the next chapter (Lards is going to be in it, finally) but also school is a mess! Thanks for sticking around, really! This takes place around the end of April/beginning of May. (Side note: I've recently realized the time-line in this makes no sense compared to the comic, so I might make a post on my Tumblr explaining it).


	5. bitty & lardo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We are all born naked into this world, but each of us is fully clothed in potential." - Emmitt Smith

 

**May 5th, 2013 | Sunday**

 

      After he’d become friends with Chowder, Annie’s had become a sort of second home to Bitty. He could be found there more often than not, in the hours between work and class, casually talking to the regulars and sipping coffee. He alone made up about 30% of their coffee sales, which Nicholas seemed to be grateful for.

     He was sitting at a table in the front of the cafe, reading a book Holster had suggested (Ready Player One by Ernest Cline?), when Dex emerged with a latte and a scone. Instead of the usual white button-down and khakis a waiter typically wore, he was wearing a blue plaid shirt under a black apron, jeans, and Converse. Dex was a horrible waiter, which probably explained why he didn’t do it that often. He tripped and dropped the tray, subsequently shattering the mug and ruining the scone.  

     “Oh my--” Bitty jumped up immediately. He rushed over to his fallen friend and offered a hand, “Are you okay?”

     Dex took his hand and tried to stand, “I’m fine. I just wish I wasn’t the only one working today.”

     “Yeah,” Bitty agreed. “Doesn’t Holster usually work this shift with you?”

     Dex glanced back towards the kitchen and frowned, “Uh, Bitty…”

     Bitty was about to speak when his phone vibrated. He offered his friend a small smile. “One minute?”

 

* * *

    

     The bus station wasn’t far from Annie’s. Bitty had offered to pick Lardo up, but she’d argued that she was perfectly fine in finding her way on her own and that he shouldn't go out in the cold because it's his birthday. Bitty countered that she shouldn’t have to walk all that way alone and that seeing Lardo was really all he wanted, and so Lardo proposed that they meet halfway. Which is what they did.

     Bitty hadn’t seen Lardo in months, but he easily spotted her on the streets of Boston. She was wearing a pastel green sundress and Doc Martens, and her dark hair was longer than Bitty remembered, curling around her ears.

     “Hey, kid! Happy fucking birthday!” Lardo called as she approached. “Take me to this cafe you were talking about, it’s fucking freezing."

 

* * *

 

      They ended up sitting in a booth towards the back. Lardo had her feet propped up on the table, playing Angry Birds. Bitty sat across from her, looking through her sketchbook. There were pages filled with nude drawings of people doing everyday things, like ironing or ice-skating. 

     “Lardo, these are amazing!,” Bitty gushed. He turned the page, “And kind of risque. I’ve never seen you do anything like these. It must have been nice to get away for a while... Did you pick up any French?”

     “Ben, je ne sais pas. Je me suis amusée, oui. Paris m’a inspiré pour dessiner les gens dénudés. Mais leurs organes génitaux sont assez laids si tu les regarde trop longs, tu sais ce que je veux dire?”

     Bitty laughed, “I have no idea what you said, but I’m going to assume the answer is yes.”

     Lardo smirked, “Yeah.”

     “What?”

     “You're such a dork, kid."

 

* * *

 

      “Anyway,” Lardo said nonchalantly as Bitty walked back from the bathroom. They had been talking for hours by this point, “I have a sort of birthday surprise for you... I got a call this morning.”

     Bitty nodded, “Yeah?”

     “From the clinic,” she took a sip of coffee. Bitty sat down next to her, a smile growing on his face.

     “Oh my--- Lardo!” Bitty exclaimed, “What did they say?!”

     “I don’t know,” she set down her mug. “The same shit they always do. They think I'm ready. And I’ve found a good donor, you know? High IQ, extremely fertile, not an ex crack-addict, all that crap...”

     “Lardo, that’s amazing!”

     Lardo tried to hide her smile, “I know, I know. But... can I talk to you about something?”

     Bitty frowned, “Of course, Lards.”

     “I mean, I know I shouldn't be worried,” Lardo started, sitting up straight, “I want the kid. I want this kid more than I’ve ever wanted anything ever, you know? I know I'll be a kick-ass mother. So it shouldn't be so hard for me to tell people that, you'd think? But every time I try to tell Shits, I back out. It’s like… it’s like I'm scared he'll judge me, or whatever... Like? I know he won't. He's the most supportive person I know, and he's my best friend, and the most important person in my life. But it feels like, like if I tell him, it'll suddenly become real and he... won't be? I don't want me having a baby to tear us apart.”

     She set her head in her hands and sighed. “What am I supposed to do?”

     Bitty rested his hand on her back, tracing his thumb in small circles, “Shitty loves you, Lardo. Nothing can come between you two.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be a bit longer, but I thought the ending point was fine where it was. I didn't want to take away from the moment. Also!! Pardon my horrible French. If you're too lazy to Google it, it's basically just a metaphor where naked people represent Lardo's life and creativity, and she gets tired of looking at genitals and... she's in a really bad place right now? Lardo is my fave tho, so dw. Anyway, I hope you liked it! Next chapter is a bonus, but after that: Shitty & Lardo.


	6. chowder & holster (bonus)

 

 

**May 5th, 2013 | Sunday**

 

   “Hey, H-- Adam?” Chowder tentatively knocked on his roommate’s door. Holster hadn’t left his room all morning, but muffled crying could be heard from the other side since Chowder woke up. “Can I come in?”

     The crying stopped. Holster’s voice was hoarse, “Yeah. Just, uh, give me a second?”

     Chowder heard Adam get up and walk over to the door. There was a brief pause before he opened it, revealing a tall blond boy with chapped lips and red eyes hidden behind wire frames. “What can I do for you?”

     Chowder awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets, “Are you, uh, are you okay?”

     Holster laughed. “Yeah, man. I just,” his voice cracked and he pushed up his glasses, “Um... Annie’s laid me off? I kept coming in late, and it just wasn’t making sense for me to, uh, be there… anymore.”

     “Oh,” Chowder said, not knowing what to say, “That sucks.”

     Holster trailed his tongue across the back of his teeth and nodded. “They, said, uh, no hard feelings, though. So, I guess there’s that? I can always go back for Karaoke Night...”

     Holster walked back over to his bed. For a moment, Chowder thought he was going to sit down and explain more. Instead, he fell face-first onto his Star Wars sheets.

     “Who needs a job when you have friends and karaoke, right?” he started crying again. “Fuck! I thought moving to Boston was going to be like, like _F.R.I.E.N.D.S_. or some shit. They all got by like life was fucking fine and dandy, Chowder.

     “Like they were failed actors and waitresses, but they made it through. But this is not a 90’s sit-com, and I’m not going to marry Rachel or Chandler or Paul Rudd.

     “Here I am: a failed waiter. I can’t even get that right; how do I expect to make a living? I am going to amount to nothing. I'm gonna grow old and live in a cardboard box under a bridge and little kids will throw rocks at me, and their parents will tell them to leave the crazy homeless man alone," he sobbed into his pillow.

     Chowder sat down beside him, “Don’t say that.”

     Holster turned onto his side and looked at his roommate with wide-eyes.

     Chowder sighed, “If anyone can make it through, Holtzy, it’s you. You’re not Monica Green or Phoebe Tribbiani, you’re you: Adam Birkholtz. When I first met you, you were wearing socks and sandals-- in the middle of December. You came into my house, saying you needed a place to stay, and offered me a home-made grilled cheese sandwich. My friends thought you were crazy. But the moment I saw you, I knew… I knew we would be best friends. Because the guy who has that much confidence in himself, that guy can do anything. Don’t prove me wrong, Adam.”

     Holster sniffled, “Thanks, man. That really means a lot…”

     Chowder nodded and smiled. He picked up one of Holster’s throw pillows, shaped like R2-D2.

     “But also?” Holster looked up at his friend, “It’s Monica Geller and Phoebe Buffay?”

     Chowder threw R2-D2 at him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I wasn't expecting to post this today, but it's finished. And longer than it was supposed to be to make up for the loss of the previous chapter. If I made any errors, please tell me in the comments down below because I binge-wrote this entire thing. (Spoiler: it was originally supposed to be Chowder & Farmer, but I needed to confirm that Holster was fired and basically have a buffer between this and Bitty & Holster [chapter 8].) Next chapter: Shitty & Lardo!


	7. shitty & lardo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." - Orson Welles

 

  **May 5th, 2013 | Sunday**

 

     Out of habit, Shitty glanced at his reflection in the rearview. His hair was pulled back into a messy  bun, and his face was speckled with glitter leftover from one of the previous night's parties. He was severely hungover, with bags under his eyes as dark as Batman’s past and his head pounding in perfect time to that _one_ Cee Lo song that was miraculously always playing on the radio, but it was worth getting out of bed and cleaning the vomit out of his shoes just to see Lardo after six months.

     When he’d gotten her call and heard she was going to be in town, he literally squealed. He’d been at the grocery store in the produce section, and he’d gotten very many strange looks. Apparently, not very many people were accustomed to grown men covered in glitter squealing like a pig while they clutched multiple zucchino.

     He frowned and checked the time and drummed his fingers on the wheel. The ring-finger on his right hand was painted green to match his eyes, a little inside joke he’d had with Lardo since his senior year in college.

 

_They’d just gotten back from a LAX Kegger, and were curled together on the floor of his dorm room. He’d been complaining about some guy who freaked out about him wearing makeup, or something, when Lardo had offered to paint his nails in vengance._

_They’d decided on green, to match his eyes. She’d had to hold his hand still because he was laughing so hard. She ended up only being able to paint the ring finger on his right hand before he spilled the nail polish all over his carpet._

 

     Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone run behind his car carrying a bat. He had a mini heart-attack and was prepared to blast his horn and scream bloody murder when Lardo tapped on the passenger’s window. She waved at him and mouthed, “Let me in.”

     He unlocked the door, and she slid into the seat beside him. She threw her duffel bag into the back seat and kicked her feet up on the dashboard. Shitty looked around anxiously, his hand hovering over the car horn.

     Lardo raised and eyebrow and pursed her lips, “What?”

     “Do you know-- I mean, I’m pretty I just saw some kid run by with a baseball bat?”

     “Oh,” Lardo mused, “That’s… oh, uh, I think his name is Dex? He was our waiter. It’s a long story.”

     Shitty visibly relaxed, “Okay. So long as he’s not some Shitty-killing maniac, I’m cool.”

     Lardo adjusted her seat-belt. “You’ve never been cool.”

     “Untrue,” he smiled. He paused for a moment before asking, “Is Bittle not coming?”

     “Nah, man,” Lardo toyed with the cuff of her jean jacket. “He got a call-- some friend needed him ASAP. Pie emergency, you know? But he’ll be at his party tomorrow night, so... “ She trailed off.

      “I guess it’s just us, then.”

     “Don’t sound too happy.”

     Shitty tousled her hair, quick to change the subject, “You’ve grown since I last saw you, Duan. You’ve got to be, what, 3’8” now?”   

     She scoffed, “Yeah, yeah... why don’t you try picking on someone your own size? But I guess you’re just compensating. You can’t be tall _and_ a looker.”  

     “That’s low, Duan,” Shitty mocked hurt, holding his hand to his heart. “Even for you.”

     Lardo shrugged, “I’m short.”

 

* * *

 

     Shitty glanced at Lardo. She was doodling a dog on an old napkin she’d found. She frowned slightly as she cross-hatched (he’s pretty sure that’s what she was doing?) around its eyes. Her left hand was stained with blue ink. Shitty felt a tight feeling in his chest and smiled.

     “Eyes on the road, Shitface,” she said, the pencap hanging out of her mouth.

     “No,” he replied, but looked back at the road anyway. There was a moment of silence before he grumbled, “You’re so mean to me.”

     “I’d get used to it,” she advised.

 

* * *

 

     Shitty had recently inherited a shitty, rundown house at the outskirts of Cambridge from his Great Aunt Donna, or something. It was covered in toilet paper from the previous night’s party and its light blue paint was chipping. It was falling apart and, really, could barely be considered a house -- it had been dubbed The Haus™ by his non-Lardo best friend, Jack, when he’d stayed with Shitty over the summer. ( _“It’s not even a house,_ mon chou _; it’s like… a haus. It’s not yet complete.”/ “You know, that’s some really poetic shit coming from a man who just called me his cabbage.”)_ But it was his.... and also it was fucking huge and fucking free _._

     Lardo slammed the car door, “So this is it, huh?”

     Shitty walked backwards up the driveway, waving his hands fanatically, “Ben-venue ah la chez Haus… uh, my casa is su casa. Something in German, maybe.”

     “I’m just going to pretend you said all of those things correctly.”

     Shitty winked.

     “You’re such a fucking dork.”

     “I’d get used to it.”

 

* * *

 

     “I call bullshit,” Shitty objected. He and Lardo sat out back, sharing a beer and looking at the stars. “Bittle does not have some secret video blog he’s never told us about. I mean, there’s just no way.”

     “Dude,” Lardo pulled out her phone and started tapping. “He does though.”

     “Maybe it’s some famous kid who _looks_ like him, I mean-- what would Bittle even have to blog about?”

     “Here,” Lardo pulled up his most recent video:

 

_“Hey, y’all,” a short, blonde kid stood in the middle of a run-down kitchen, holding a small glass bowl full of flour. He offered a small smile and began to speak again. “If y’all’ve ever wondered how to make a cheap but delicious homemade souffle, y’all are in the right place.”_

_The camera zoomed out to reveal another blonde man standing beside him. He wore a plaid button-down over a_ Dunder Mifflin _t-shirt and wire-frame glasses._

_Bittle continued talking, “I’m here with my friend, Adam, and we’re going to make your own Nutella Souffle. “_

 

     As the ingredients appeared on the screen one-by-one, Shitty paused the video.

     “Okay,” he conceded, “You’re right. That’s definitely him.”

     “See,” Lardo said smugly, resting her head on Shitty’s shoulder. “I’m always right.”

     She pressed play.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowie! sorry about this being published so late; it just took me so long to write! anywho, i hope you enjoy! hopefully i get the next chapter up sooner rather than later.


	8. bitty & holster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hate the way you're always right/I hate it when you lie  
> I hate it when you make me laugh/Even worse when you make me cry  
> I hate the way you're not around/And the fact that you didn't call  
> But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you/Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all."

**May 5th 2013 | Sunday**

 

     Eric Richard Bittle might not have known much, but was certain of two things in life.

     First of all, he was certain of pies and the magical qualities they possessed. He knew hundreds of recipes by heart, ones passed down through the family and ones of his own invention. You could give him five random ingredients from _the brokest_ frat boy’s kitchen and he would almost miraculously turn them into the greatest pie you’ve ever tasted in your entire gosh-darn life. Siracha, spray cheese, and peanut butter pie may have at one point seemed like the demonic dessert The Devil Himself feeds you in hell just before feasting off of your flesh, but when Bitty had first made it... it miraculously tasted... _kind of good_. And now it was something his small group of friends ate regularly. 

     Second, nothing could cheer up a sitcom nerd faster than a box set of all nine seasons of Scrubs, plus bloopers. Holster had spent hours on end trying to rope Bitty into watching the show because "it's a classic" and "it really highlights the transition to single-cam comedy with no laugh track or studio audience or whatever and marks the point where sitcoms start delving into more serious issues that shows like _Saved By the Bell_ could never really cover." They'd made it about four episodes in before Bitty couldn't watch anymore because there were too many tears in his eyes. But Bitty was willing to sacrifice his tear ducts if it meant making Adam smile.

* * *

 

     Holster sat on the hazardous green couch in nothing but Batman boxers, eating a bowl of cornflakes with one of the silicone measuring spoons Bitty had left there. He glanced briefly at Bitty, but then looked back at the TV where _Legally Blonde 2: Red, White, & Blonde _turned to commercial. Dark circles outlined his eyes like he was wearing too much eyeliner, and for a second Bitty hoped he'd been watching Drag Race... but the tired look on the boy's poor face said otherwise.

     Chowder emerged from the kitchen, covered in glitter and shark stickers, eyes watering. His short black hair shined purple in the apartment’s dim light. “Oh! Bitty, thank goodness you’re here... I can’t get him to talk to me.”

     Bitty set his pie down on the bookshelf beside the front door, on top of a pile of unpaid bills and next to Chowder’s empty fish bowl. “I thought you had talked to him this morning?”

     “I did!” Bitty hadn’t seen his friend this exasperated since Dex had tried to teach them how to make New England Lobster Rolls. “But then I went to take a shower, and when I came out he wouldn’t speak. I even tried putting on Les Mis, to get him to sing along --- but he _didn’t..."_  He paused for a moment, _"_ And I know it's your birthday and you have plans, but you're probably his best friend. He just... connects with you. I really hope I didn't make you feel obligated to come, but... I hoped that maybe you could help? Get him to talk to you?” 

     Bitty offered his friend a small smile and sat next to Adam on the ungodly couch (a sacrifice he was willing to make for his best friend), "Holster, hon..."

     Adam looked at him like he had two heads. The look in his eyes made Bitty’s heart shatter into a million pieces. “Are you okay? Why won’t you talk?”

     “He gets like this sometimes,” Chowder frowned. “Sometimes for days. I never know what to do. Nursey thinks I should bring him to a doctor, but Dex disagrees. He says it's Holster's choice, and we shouldn't force him to do anything he doesn't want to. Which I get, but... I'm just worried.”

     "I don't know," Bitty sighed. "Has he been taking his meds, do you know?"

     "I think so? Gosh, it feels so dirty to be talking about him like he's not here..."

 

* * *

 

     Chowder had gone out to get some pizzas.

     Before he left, they'd decided to start wathing _10 Things I Hate About You_. Bitty had wanted to give Holster his space so he that wouldn't feel overwhelmed. But halfway through the movie, he'd rested his head on Bitty's lap and sighed, pulling a blanket around his shoulders. It was the closest thing to speech Bitty had heard in hours, so he just played with Adam's hair while he stared silently at the movie. 

    Suddenly, as Julia Stiles began reading her poem to the class, Holster broke out into sobs. Bitty simply held his friend against his chest until the movie faded to black.

     "Bitty," Adam said, staring at Bitty's tear-stained shirt. "I'm sorry."

     "Honey, you don't need to be sorry for anything..." Bitty started.

     "No, no. I wanted to talk... so badly... But every time I tried, nothing came out. No matter how much I wanted to talk, I felt frozen in place; I felt like my nerves were on fire. I wasn't ignoring you or Chowder," he started to cry again. "I'm not mad at you guys. I wanted to talk, I just... couldn't. I wanted to tell you to go home, Bitty. You shouldn't have wasted your birthday here with me..."

     "Adam Birkholtz," Bitty said solemnly. "I am not wasting anything being here with you. You're my friend, and you're upset. I chose to be here. Because I care about you."

     "You shouldn't! I don't want to be a burden to you like I am to Chowder," Holster sat up and wiped his eyes.

     "You're not--"

     "Yes I _am_ , Bitty. We can hardly afford to pay rent, or even buy food. And he still lets me live here. He worries so much about me, he _cares_ so much about me, and I don't deserve it."

     "You can't say that. It's unfair to yourself and to Chowder. He loves you, Adam. He doesn't want to see you like this. _We_ don't want to see you like this. You're not a burden. You're a human being and also our friend, and we would do whatever it takes to see you smile. We need you in our lives... Don't ever assume otherwise."

 

* * *

 

     When Chowder returned, he found Bitty and Holster curled together on the couch, asleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been a long time since the last update, huh? oops. i think i might start writing this again, if people want. i mean, the hiatus after the most recent update is going to be... not fun... but at least we've got joe johnson?? anyway, don't try that pie i talked about. there's a 130% chance it's actually disgusting. next chapter, if i get around to writing it, will be back to ransom!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm hoping to update this bi-weekly , but I'm not certain if that's set in stone. Feel free to leave a comment down below, and if you liked it, check out my other Check Please! fic written with waywardchilde: The One Where Everyone Finds Out (Except Probably Shitty). Follow me on tumblr at: human-with-human-powers.tumblr.com


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